


something like sorry

by easystreets



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Apologies, Episode Tag: Charlie Gets Crippled, Fluff, M/M, Sewing, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easystreets/pseuds/easystreets
Summary: Charlie knows how to sew, and Mr. Tibbs is missing his head. It's a no-brainer.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	something like sorry

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! <3 have a lovely day!

Dennis shows at his house a few weeks later, with a suspiciously large box in hand.

“Is that bees?” Charlie asks, barely looks up from the Ellen reruns he’s been marathoning all morning. Having broken legs sucks. Having broken arms and barely being able to change the TV channel sucks even worse.

“No,” Dennis says, glances anywhere but at Charlie, like he’s a guilty dog. Good, Charlie thinks, allows him to wallow in his guilt. Dennis stares at the posters and Frank’s clothes strewn on the floor and the hooker shit that Frank's girls leave: perfume and flavored condoms. “Hey, Charlie,” he finally says, places the box on the sofa-bed gingerly. It probably is bees. Or hornets.

“Yeah?” Charlie turns his head away from the stupid kid breakdancing on Ellen. He could totally do that, way better than any seven-year-old, if it wasn’t for his damaged, plaster-casted body. And it’s all Dennis’s fault.

“I--I wanted to say,” he says, balling his hands up to his obnoxiously blue polo shirt, the one with the little horse-rider guy on it. “I wanted to say that I am sorry. For hitting you with my car. And, uh, that I got you a present. If you want it.”

“I don’t want your present.” Charlie says. What he wants is for his arm not to be fucking bent and bruised and for his legs to not be itchy from the heat of the cast and have dicks drawn all over them because Mac thought it was funny and he was passed out drunk. Dennis stands there, with his stupid arm still in the sling, not like he probably even needs it, and looks all dejected and hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Dennis says. “Look, Charlie, I need you to do me a favor.”

There it is. The trademark Reynolds routine: look sad like a kicked and battered puppy, get down on your knees and apologize, then stand up and kick the guy in the nuts. 

“So that’s why you came here,” Charlie says. Goddamn. He doesn’t know why he gave Dennis a key. The lock doesn’t even work, but still. Matter of principle.

“No! Look,” Dennis does that think with his hands, twists them into fleshy white doves and caverns of bone and skin, all genuinely nervous, “You--you know how to sew, right?”

* * *

The stuffed animal is, truthfully, pretty fucked. It’s missing an eye, which Dennis says “adds character” but really just provides another orifice for the stuffing to seep out of. The stomach of the elephant-- Mr. Tibbs, sorry-- is gashed by Dee’s nails, little flecks of aquamarine nail polish dotting its innards. Poor Mr. Tibb’s head, Dennis mentions, like it’s not completely obvious, is ripped clean off, decapitated and nearly void of stuffing.

“Please, dude, I haven’t been able to sleep.” He does look like shit. Charlie decides Dennis is probably not lying when he stretches out woefully on Charlie’s side of the sofa-bed and covers himself in the scratchy blankets. “I _need_ Mr. Tibbs to be better.”

Charlie’s lined up all his tools-- a knife (he hates scissors, and really they’re just two knife parts glued together so it makes more sense to use just one), a pack of cigarettes (he likes to smoke when he sews, also, he hasn’t been able to light up with one hand), thread (from an old t-shirt), and a bunch of duct tape if that doesn’t work out. “Doctor’s in, Mr. Tibbs,” he says, through the needle clenched between his teeth.

“And, like, I don’t know, things have been so weird lately, man,” Dennis says, as Charlie ties a big knot, then a slightly smaller one. “My parents are getting divorced, which, fine, we always kind of knew it was going to happen. My mom had a thing for the pool boy, whatever. But Dad’s gone completely off the rails. Insane, and just being a bigger piece of shit than usual. And Charlie, _Charlie_ , I don’t need that in my life.”

“I don’t know, man,” Charlie says. To be honest, this is kind of nice. Going places in his wheelchair is boring and arduous as shit. He hasn’t hung out with the Gang in a bit, especially since Dennis’s car has been in the shop and they’re all incapable of walking into Charlie’s (admittedly shitty) neighborhood to say hi. “I mean, at least you know your dad.”

“Nah,” Dennis sighs. “You don’t know what Frank was like growing up.”

“Frank’s the coolest,” Charlie says. “He’s loaded. You guys are rich as hell, dude. I bet you got the best birthday presents.”

“We didn’t get _shit_ , Charlie.” Dennis mutters. “Fake-outs, you know, and then when we were older he’d only buy one of us a gift, and he liked Dee more because she’s well, Dee’s a bitch, so all I got was the Range Rover for my sixteenth birthday, which was pretty cool. Dad bought Dee a Jag, but she totaled it in like a week.” It’s weird, seeing Dennis this honest and almost quiet, laying starfished on Charlie’s bed.

“Dee is a bitch.” Charlie says, instead of, I like the way you look when you’re not freaking out or angry, or, you look pretty, almost, with your eyes closed, or, I’m not that mad at you even though you’re the biggest asshole I know.

“Yeah,” Dennis says. “Goddamn. This bed’s comfortable, you mind if I take a quick powernap? Just like five minutes or whatever, I haven’t slept since last week.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude, I have _the_ worst time sleeping,” Dennis shakes his head, brushes back his hair. “Always. What’s the longest you’ve gone?”

“Without what?”

“Sleeping.” Dennis says, and there’s no, _idiot_ , or _dumbass_ , _what did you think I was trying to ask you_ , attached. This is his favorite Dennis. This is the Dennis nobody else gets to see.

“When I was a kid, probably like a week. Mac went to go see his cousin and like, Uncle Jack got all up in my personal space, so I went to stay at the park but there were hobos and shit.”

“Uncle Jack?” Dennis gives him a look, like he knows exactly what Charlie’s getting at but wants him to say it, say everything horrible and true out loud.

“He’s like, my creepy uncle,” Charlie explains. “I moved past it.”

“Okay.” Dennis says. “I get it.” He yawns loud. “Movin’ past shit’s the only way to go.” 

It’s quiet for a while: Dennis’s breathing sounds and the needle’s in-out the only noise aside from the outside ones. The TV hums about a monkey who can speak in sign language; Charlie makes a mental note to tape it for later. 

“Done.” Charlie says, hands him Mr. Tibbs once he’s sure the stuffing won’t seep out. The stitching’s a little rough, but he looks like a normal stuffed elephant rather than a decapitation victim, which Charlie considers a win in his book. 

“Shit, do you want me to leave?” Dennis says, stretches. Charlie clambers onto the bed clumsily, dragging himself so that he’s practically on top of Dennis.

“No,” Charlie says, “stay.”

“Aren’t-- aren’t you mad at me?” Dennis frowns. “I break your legs, and then I give you a bullshit apology-- by the way, that was great acting, Dee should definitely be taking notes from me-- and then I make you sew Mr. Tibbs up with a cast on.”

“I moved past it,” Charlie says. He lets Dennis pull the blankets over the two of them. Three, if you count Mr. Tibbs.

“You’re screwed in the head,” Dennis says, ruffles his hair a little. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he should be pissed at Dennis instead of cuddling with him in his bed. “And you never opened your present.”

“‘S probably nothing inside,” Charlie says, because he knows to expect the bare minimum from the Gang, even when doing shit like this. Dennis will definitely gone by the time he wakes up, or his booze shelf will be emptied. It’s the way they work.

“Nah, I got you your own Mr. Tibbs from the hospital gift shop. I was gonna take it if you didn’t fix my Mr. Tibbs up, but you did a pretty OK job.” It’s as close to a compliment as Dennis can give. “Night, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” Charlie whispers.

He doesn’t sleep, lets Dennis lay on him and whisper meaningless nothings in his sleep instead. It’s not like Dennis ever means to be cruel, or horribly mean. He’s never hurt anyone unless he was hurt first, Charlie supposes, like it’s some sort of playground rule. And well, Charlie can move past cruel and obscene, can move past broken legs with remarkable agility. 

He kisses Dennis’s cheek in his sleep. It’s the closest thing to revenge he’ll ever get.

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing episode tags. Also, I am currently working on so many Sunny fics ( an apocalypse AU that is half-done, something to do with Char/Dee because I am terrible and they are my guilty pleasure, and I had the idea for a Sunny fic but set in the Victorian era this summer and never got around to doing it because I am easily distracted. One day.) but, anyways, I HAD to write this because I've had the worst writer's block and needed to write something fun and ridiculous. This is admittedly not my Best Fic Ever but I liked it, thought it was cute, and needed to Write Something, yk? 
> 
> LOL. Thanks again for reading! Pls feel free to comment, or tell me about your day, or what fics you've been planning to write but haven't actually gotten around to... :)


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